this is our fate
by ink teardrops
Summary: Somewhere out there, a child is growing up, with the names of the lost loves of the past on the tip of her tongue —-Every life they lead always seems to follow the same path: he always leaves and he never returns —a reincarnation story, for Lady


**Title: **this is our fate

**Summary: ** Somewhere out there, a child is growing up, with the names of the lost loves of the past on the tip of her tongue —-Every life they lead always seems to follow the same path: he always leaves and never returns —a reincarnation story, for Lady

**Challenge/Prompts: **GGE, June. Dreams; "Fate can only do so much for a person, the rest is up to them."; "Who are you? / "What sort of dumb question is that. I am who I am, an' I am who I was, an' I am who I will always be." / "That's no answer." / "That's the only answer worth giving."

**Notes: **This is for Lady (Lady Phoenix Fire Rose) – I hope you enjoy this, it's probably not quite what you had in mind but what can I say, the plot-bunnies hit. I know I am doing GGE in an odd order, but I am very, very, very behind, so I'm catching up by writing whatever inspires me. This is a reincarnation fic – something I've been slowly falling in love with for a while now, and I just had to write this.

* * *

_"This is our fate, I'm yours" -Jason Mraz, I'm Yours_

* * *

_**i**__. Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw_

They're new to the world and they're restless, ambitious and genius. They have their whole lives ahead of them and there are a thousand different routes they could take, but it always seems to come down to one point, one moment in time: their destiny.

But, they're far too clever, young and foolish to be thinking of petty things like _destiny_. They're too busy crafting corridors that stretch on forever and ensuring that their names will end up in the history books.

It is the summer of their youth and they're sketching out the plans for a better future, the plans for a world that the future generation of witches and wizards can live in – they're on the cusp of becoming legends and maybe it's the heat of the moment or maybe it's because it's been brewing for a long time, but he takes her hand in his and she smiles and says "of course" and it almost sounds like "forever".

She is young, witty and rash and he is ambitious, arrogant and clever and maybe they were never meant to be, but maybe they're going to try anyway – they're either going to get burnt or blaze on eternally but they're going to walk across the hot coals anyway, because they'd risk anything, even scorched skin, to burn forever.

And so, of course, they hold onto each other's hands and they laugh and then plan and they read and they fight and they love and they stay and then dream – they dream of the days to come and the days that have been. They both know that these are their glory days – it's the days of unanimous agreement, peace, companionship and becoming immortals.

It is the days of letter writing, spell teaching, sorting, changing and falling in love.

They both know that these glory days – the four of them residing in the magical castle they built up from the ground together, peacefully – have got to end eventually. It's just a question of when, how and why. But, all four of them are _still_ far too young and logical to dwell on the future and so, they live for now and they embrace these days of feeling invincible.

The summer of their youth ends and autumn arrives and that's when _everything_ falls apart. Maybe she was too naïve, he too selfish and maybe they stood a bit too close to the fire but, either way, it is broken and it will never be repaired. Every choice that they have made, every turning they have taken – all of it, it has led to this moment – Rowena and Salazar stood together, in this brand new yet ancient corridor the past behind them and their future together lying in the ashes.

"So," she says, her voice ringing with finality, "this is it."

"This is it," he repeats, nodding, his voice tired.

To any onlookers, it would sound as though they were two of the fallen gods, whose love for one another had run dry many, many years ago and that now they were just the weary remnants of two once-immortals. But, it's not – yes, their hearts are cracking in their chests, and they want nothing more than a lifetime together, but they know that there is nothing they can do anymore – they have exhausted every possibility and they know that this is it. This was always going to be it. This is their fate. This is the end.

Rowena looks away sadly for a moment. She stares out of the window and into the autumnal castle grounds of this _kingdom_ and all she wants is to bring back the days of spring, when they were happy. All she wants is to spend the rest of her life with Salazar's hand in hers, strolling through their domain, but she just knows that this was inevitable and that there's nothing she can do

"Why couldn't there be a happy ending for us?" she whispers, tearing her eyes away from the falling leaves to stare into the hazel eyes of her lost lover.

Salazar reaches out and strokes one pale, aristocratic hand down her smooth cheeks.

"There are a thousand possibilities out there, a thousand lives we could lead, and perhaps one of them holds the happy ending we can never have," he says, and he doesn't quite understand and neither does she, but it's just feels so _right_.

And, Rowena knows in this moment, that it was never going to be any different. Every choice and every decision made was leading up to this, and she knows in her heart that she can't change it.

"Will you ever come back for me?" she whispers, even though somehow, she already knows the answer. It's inked across every inch of bone and written in every star above her. He will never return.

"I'll try, my love," he says, sadly, even though he knows, just as well as she does, that it's a lie.

Salazar places one last, gentle kiss on her lips and he walks away – he walks out their castle and out of her life, he walks into the golden flames of his future.

Rowena feels her heart shatter in her chest, and she stares at Salazar's retreating figure as he walks outside, into the autumn day, and she stares at his silhouette against the vivid ochre leaves of this season, and the bright orange colour sparks an almost memory of a burning building that she's never seen, and maybe even something like a flash of auburn hair-

Rowena shakes her head, and she turns around into the empty corridor and summons memories of the golden days of spring that she wishes had lasted forever.

Salazar never returns and, ten years later, Rowena dies of a broken heart in a cerulean chamber. The last word on her lips is _"Salazar"_, before she closes her eyes and slips away.

Somewhere out there, a baby girl is born, whose fate is etched into her skin and the name _"Salazar"_ escapes her throat in a strangled cry.

The cycle begins again.

* * *

_**xv. **__George Langley and Catherine Sutton_

"Lady Catherine, may I have this dance?" George asks, in a painfully familiar voice that she swears she's known for the whole of time.

"You may," she graciously accepts his proffered hand, and he pulls her into a dance, and they both try and ignore the strong sense of déjà vu that they're both experiencing.

He spins her around the room and Catherine considers their surroundings – the intricately aristocratic décor and the deep wooden furniture that screams of money. It's beautiful, but she can't help but long for an achingly familiar ancient stone castle that she has never visited before in her life.

Suddenly, George spins her round, in their choreographed dance, and whispers right into the shell of her ear. "Hogwarts," he murmurs, and Catherine feels a jolt of recognition run through her.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and she draws in a sharp intake of breath. She has never heard Hogwarts mentioned, nor has she ever visited it or found a single trace of it in her father's library, but every cell in her body cries out to it – it is the castle which haunts her dreams and that she _longs_ to visit.

They continue in their dance, Catherine still trying to process the information and George smiling a serene smile that Catherine swears she knows from somewhere.

"What did you say?" she asks, stepping to his left.

"Hogwarts," he replies, stepping to her right, "I know you know it too."

"Who are you?" she asks in disbelief, her eyes widening in shock.

"What sort of question is that? I am who I am, and I am who I was, and I am who I will always be."

"That's no answer." Catherine shakes her head, infuriating.

"That's the only answer worth giving," he replies, "and you know who I am, and who I was and who I always will be. You know that our story has stretched the whole of time and will stretch the rest of it. Your soul recognises me, your _heart_ does."

The dance finishes, and Catherine bows numbly, before weaving out of the door and returning home.

One year later, they meet at another dance, and George is there in the corner, his smile ever-serene and Catherine can feel her soul rejoicing, longing to be with him, calling out to him across the centuries. On this night, they converse for longer, and slowly they piece the whole story together – they piece the story of countless goodbyes and orange leaves together and slowly, they realise who they are.

At the end of the evening, George promises that he will come back for Catherine and that they will be together, and defy the fate that is laid out for them. Before he walks out of the door, he mutters in her ear.

"There are a thousand possibilities out there, a thousand lives we could lead, and perhaps one of them holds the happy ending we can never have," he says, and she knows in her heart that this is the end of the road. George walks out of the door.

Four hours later, George dies with Catherine's names on his lips.

That night, Catherine stares out into the sunset, and she watches the fiery-orange sky mourn the loss of the boy whose life had been inexplicably intertwined with her.

The tale dies with Catherine, four years later.

They remember, and then they forget, and somewhere out there, a child is growing up with the memory of a sunset and the remnants of the name _"George" _on her lips.

* * *

_**xli**__. Edward and Clara Ashdown_

"Edward! Edward!"

Her loving voice awakens him from his slumber, and the kaleidoscope dreams that haunt his subconscious; splintered dreams of countless goodbyes that have echoed across the centuries, of broken eyes and of autumn leaves and amber eyes and orange blurs that never seem to end.

"Morning, Rowena, my love…" he mumbles sleepily, rolling over and facing the sunlight.

"What did you call me, dear?" she replies, laughing. She's not Rowena – the only Rowena she knows of is the wise founder that lived long ago, but somehow, it sounds _right_. It sounds silly, but she can almost hear her soul rejoicing at the sound of the name, as if something deep within her is responding to the call.

Edward blinks in the September sunlight streaming into their room. "I didn't call you anything, love," he responds, but, he can still feel the echo of a long-forgotten name lingering on his lips.

She smiles and presses a soft kiss on his lips, "Breakfast is ready when you are," she walks out of their bedroom, and Edward slowly awakes.

Downstairs, Clara flicks her wand and the kettle whistles its usual jaunty tune, and she thinks of a name she can never quite remember, and a thousand lives that she could lead. The autumnal day outside is crisp and fresh, and it feels like the kind of day that should go perfectly, but somehow, Clara can just feel that it won't – she can feel it in her bones, and it sounds something like fate and destiny. A few minutes later, Edward wanders downstairs and places a kiss on her cheek.

Twenty minutes later, Edward stands up and heads to the door, leaving his wand on the kitchen table. Clara helps him put his coat on and then, they stand in the doorway together, and for some reason, an overwhelming sadness grips them both.

"I'm off then," Edward says, and Clara can't help the tears that fill her eyes.

"Will you come back for me?" she whispers, and Edward strokes her face.

"Of course, my love," he says, and then he laces up his boots and walks out the door.

He reaches the gate at the bottom of the path, before turning around. Clara is stood in the doorway, watching him leave. "There are a thousand possibilities out there, a thousand lives we could lead, and perhaps one of them holds the happy ending we can never have," he blurts out, and he doesn't know why – it makes no sense, but the words just come to him and he knows that they're right.

Clara nods sadly from the doorway and she watches him walk out into the misty, golden morning.

Two hours later, the factory he works in burns to the ground. Clara stands by the blazing structure and the leaping orange flames spark a memory of a brand new yet ancient castle and a raging sunset, and she wonders why she doesn't feel shocked.

There are no survivors.

Clara weeps in her empty bed that night, and somewhere out there, a new life begins.

* * *

_**xlii. **__John and Eleanor Todd_

"John, please," Eleanor pleads, tears running down her pale face, "please. Don't leave me."

Eleanor's grief is so familiar that John's breath hitches in his throat and he feels his heart stutter.

"I have to do this. I just have to, my darling," John says sadly, "this is my country. I have to fight for it. I just have to. And, I think you know the other reason. I think you know that this is my fate – I think you know that every choice we have ever made and every path we deigned to take all led up to this point. This was inevitable."

Eleanor knows he is right – she knows deep within her bones and every drop of blood is telling her that this was always going to happen, but she has always been stubborn and fiery, and she isn't going to accept that this might be the end.

"Fate can only do so much for a person. The rest is up to them. Please John, please," she says, but she knows that it's impossible. She knows that he has to walk out of this door today and never turn back.

"I know," John says, and he feels his heart ache for her already, "but you know as well as I do that I have to leave."

"Will you come back for me?" Eleanor whispers, tears spilling out of her eyes.

"I'll try, my darling," he replies, pressing his lips to hers and whispering _I love you_ into her lips.

"I wish there was a happy ending for us," Eleanor kisses him back.

"There are a thousand possibilities out there, a thousand lives we could lead, and perhaps one of them holds the happy ending we can never have," John says, quoting _someone – _someone he can't quite remember, and Eleanor simply nods.

John laces up his boots and he listens to the call of war and goes marching off to his fate, and Eleanor waits for the dreaded telegram that she just _knows_ is coming.

In a muddy field in the middle of France, a bomb goes off and a young man is buried under the blackened earth. His last thought is of Eleanor, and her golden smile, which has refracted throughout their story for the whole of time, before the whole world goes black.

Back at home, in a small English village, a widow mourns for the husband she always knew she was going to lose. She remembers his beautiful amber eyes, and maybe a flash of auburn hair and a blazing sunset, and something that feels like magic, but she never sees him again.

Eleanor visits the memorial that holds John's name every day for the rest of her life. A child watches from the shadows every single day, the names _Rowena, Catherine, Clara _and _Eleanor_ on the tip of his tongue.

Eleanor mourns, the boy watches and the cycle continues.

* * *

_**xlix. **__Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley_

They've lived countless lives, stretched across the centuries, but their story always echoes the same thing. He always leaves and he never comes back, and she dies alone many years later. They've been witches and wizards, Muggles and Squibs, and sometimes they remember, but most times they don't. Each life tends to blur into a kaleidoscope of amber flashes and heart wrenching goodbyes, and not once have they ever found a happy ending.

This time, she is young and foolish again and he is heroic and loyal, and they both fall in love at the wrong time once more. This time, she is feisty and she will never give up, and he is rash and hot-headed and perhaps they're meant to be – perhaps every other failed tale and every other wrong turning was leading up to this – the story that was _meant_ to end in happy ever after.

But, just as he always does, Harry has to leave and Ginny has to wait, and maybe it will just end up like all of the other lives – a tragic tale of loss.

His goodbye is lost somewhere between green jets of light and panicked fighting, but he imagines it sometimes, as he sits in his cold tent in the middle of nowhere. He imagines parting and he imagines copper hair glinting in the sunlight. He imagines placing a soft kiss on her lips and running his hand along her cheek, and he imagines reciting those familiar _alien_ words, "There are a thousand possibilities out there, a thousand lives we could lead, and perhaps one of them holds the happy ending we can never have," and he remembers something about auburn leaves and fiery sunsets and raging fire and amber eyes, but he shakes the thought out of his head, eventually.

And, Ginny sits at home and waits, just like all the others before her, and she wonders if he'll ever return to her – some nights, a dull ache in the pit of her stomach tells her he won't, but other days, when she sees ochre leaves and burning sunsets, she feels a glimmer of hope.

Every cell in her body is telling her that he won't come back, but her heart is beating out a tune of hope, and this is what's different about this particular story.

This time, he leaves again, and she waits, but finally, he returns, in the midst of spring.

Maybe, he's not quite the same person he was when he left, but he's still back and this time, she wasn't left waiting alone. He could've left her in a stone corridor; died after remembering the past, burned in a crumbling wreckage or even have been buried on the battlefield, but he didn't, and, somewhere above, Salazar and Rowena, George and Catherine, Edward and Clara, John and Eleanor and everyone else they ever were rejoice.

And, at the end of the battle, when they reunite, they link fingertips and with a gasp, they suddenly remember, they remember everybody they once were and they remember every lost soul who they could have ended up as.

And, they breathe a sigh of relief that they finally found each other again, and they forget the past they might've had and they turn instead to their golden future.

It happens countless times: he always leaves, and never comes back, but this time it's different. This time they leave _together_.

One day in the future, two wizened lovers turn to each other and whisper each other's names, before drifting off and flitting peacefully into the next life.

Out there somewhere, a world mourns for their loss, but the lovers that were always meant to be dance amongst the stars.

The cycle is broken. Their love lives on.


End file.
